Human Again
by LadyTrampleton
Summary: Everyone needs to feel human again after times of distress, even nations. When our lovers are gone, we turn to those closest. Historically accurate, yet (for some reason) crack pairing, UKxNorway.


Human Again

The door to England's home was kicked opened and slammed against the wall. With growing concern, England dragged his companion through the door into his cold house. The fire was out and the room was swamped in darkness. But this was normal for him.

It was war.

The year was 1940. The war with Germany was already a year old, despite nothing actually happening. England thought he had time, plenty of time to prepare, forewarn the other nations, make alliances and form a cohesive plan, pooling their collective strengths. They could make a calculated plan; take back Poland in one fell swoop without wasting lives and before Germany had time to react.

However, Germany had sprung his own trap far too quickly. And now many of the nations England needed to use had gone. He had been too late and too far away to help; it made him feel weak and helpless, something he did not wish to be. France was gone, swallowed up by Germany's new regime. Poland too had disappeared, along with Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Austria, the latter of whom had joined without resistance. The outlook did not look promising. England thought he had an undefeatable advantage; the English Channel. The stretch of water would hold Germany back long enough for him to fully prepare a counter-attack. When he had first heard of the German strike, that had been the plan, but he had underestimated Germany's reach...

Germany had attacked Norway. Norway had lost. Sweden hadn't help; that idiot was remaining neutral so as not to get his hands dirty. Just like America. England gritted his teeth in frustration. Stupid, stupid nations. And now that Germany didn't fear the sea, England's worries had increased tenfold. Yes he had the greatest naval fleet, but he couldn't be everywhere at once. He had seen Germany's U-boats in effect and he wasn't going to lie... he was scared. Not that he would show it, but deep in his heart, he worried that he and the Commonwealth could lose this war. His leaders had flown into a panic and had secured Iceland, fearing that a German-controlled Norway would use the white-haired nation against him. The last thing he needed was war on two fronts.

Shuffling inside, England held on tightly to his companion's waist and the arm across his neck. Grunts and groans calmed England by letting him know his companion was still alive. Anger flared in England's chest. He hadn't foreseen this attack from Germany, thus he and his general's silly mistakes had cost Norway dear. The unconscious nation felt deathly cold and his skin was far too pale. His clothes were dirty, torn and damp from the rain that once again dotted the English capital. It matched England's mood perfectly.

As gently as he could, England set Norway down on his chair. The nation made no sound besides his wheezing breath. England stood for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest. His stupid mistake caused this. He knelt down and tugged off Norway's drenched boots and socks, throwing them near his fire to dry. He hissed at the sight of Norway's feet and grabbed a cleaner, thicker pair of socks that he pulled on. He made a note to turn the fire up, he could spare some extra gas if it meant Norway kept use of his feet.

With a shake of his head – which splashed water from his hair – England rushed over to close the front door. He shrugged out of his coat and took off his own thread-bare boots. He continued his everyday tasks, turning his fire on, filling the kettle with water, changing his damp clothes for fresh one, bringing down a towel, a set of clean clothes and blankets for himself and Norway. Yet despite the normality, his heart was heavy.

_I could have killed Norway,_ England thought as he heated the kettle on his stove. _He could be dead now, all because of me. I barely managed to save him, the others... I should have seen Germany's plan, I should have been more prepared._

"What am I to do?" England sighed aloud.

"...Eng?" came a croaky voice in the living room. England dropped his towel and rushed to Norway's side. It was the first word he had spoken since England had found him and his royal family at the port. They were all cold, shocked and quiet; Norway himself had been unconscious. No one had any words to say to comfort the royals.

"Yes Nor, I'm here," he said quietly, touching his friend's forehead. Still too cold.

"Where am I?" Norway whispered, his blue eyes darting around the unfamiliar room.

"You're in my home Nor, you're safe."

Dead blue eyes darted about the room before focusing on England. "The King?"

"He and his family are safe here," England soothed, taking his hand away. "Your King plans to send his family somewhere safer, probably to America if he can, while he remains here." _The man had fire in his eyes and a sword at his side, ready to draw blood, _England thought but didn't voice. Such words would be no comfort at this time.

"I'm... in your house. The ship made it safely?" Norway asked again. England could see the man's mind trying to piece together what had happened. Truthfully, England did not know the full story, but somehow Norway had arrived at England's shore somewhat intact.

"Yes Nor, you are safe. I confess it is not much, but this is my home and you will be safe here." _For now..._

"I'm so cold," Norway murmured, beginning to shake as he pulled his feet up onto the chair. England quickly checked the temperature of his feet through the socks. Still far too cold.

England stood and brought Norway's blanket and fresh clothes to rest on the arm of the chair. "Here Nor, some clean and dry clothes for you. I have the kettle ready to boil and a blanket here for you too. Can you dress yourself?" Norway managed a weak nod as England moved to turn up the fire and set the kettle to boil.

It took a few moments for the kettle to whistle and even then the water was only mildly hot. England sighed as he tipped the water into the two mugs. This was war and whilst nothing had happened yet, he needed to ration. He had willingly given up what he did not need, which unfortunately included his stash of teabags. What he would give for some real tea or even coffee, anything other than bland weak tea that had gone well passed its expiry date.

He returned to find Norway struggling to undo the buttons of his wet clothes.

England set the two mugs of warm tea down on his nearside table and as tenderly as possible, grasped Norway's cold, shaking hands and set them aside. His friend did not protest as England unbuttoned his shirt and eased the wet fabric from his shoulders. The cold air hit Norway's damp skin, making him shiver more as England hurriedly wrapped the blanket around the nation's frame. Guilt fell about England's shoulders and the awkwardness of the situation made him want to confess.

"T-tusen takk Eng," Norway managed through chattering teeth. England shook his head as he rubbed the blanket around Norway's arms, trying to warm his friend.

"I'm... I'm sorry Norway. I wish I could have done more to prevent this," England muttered, feeling his inadequacies weighing him down. He tugged the blanket tighter around his companion's chest, not wishing to meet his gaze.

"It's not your fault Eng," Norway said, trailing his finger along England's cheek. His finger felt bitingly cold against England's skin. "No one expected this to happen, least of all me. This is war. I'm lucky to be alive, thanks to your navy. I didn't think my neutrality would last long after..." he trailed off, his eyes glazing over. England knew the unspoken words.

After Denmark surrendered.

Tears began to stream down Norway's face and his breathing grew heavy. Slowly and carefully, England crawled forwards and enveloped Norway in an embrace. Norway didn't fight it off like he usually would. Instead, he grabbed England with his skinny arms and began to sob into his shoulder. England closed his eyes and let his friend pour out his grief.

Moments passed and Norway's sobs ceased, but he remained buried in the crook of England's neck, his hands digging into England's back. At least they had stopped shaking.

Delicately, England managed to free himself from Norway's hold. He found the towel he had brought earlier and placed it over his friend's head, gently drying his damp hair. Norway's hand remained on his back as he completed his task.

"I wonder what the future will hold," Norway mused as England set the wet towel down and tried to brush Norway's hair with his fingertips.

His eyebrows creased at Norway's words. "We must hold to hope. We will restore what has been lost Norway. Do not talk of uncertainty," England said, trying to sound wise. He felt that he was failing.

"This is war," Norway muttered, his blank eyes staring through England. He began to shake again. "Who knows if we will live to see tomorrow? We should just live for now..."

"Nor, do not speak like that," England soothed, pulling the blanket down over Norway's back.

"We may both die tomorrow," Norway continued, England's words falling on deaf ears. Norway's voice began to crack. "We may be dead in a month's time. We may never do this again. We may-"

"Do not think that way Nor," England said forcefully, cupping Norway's face and pulling his blue eyes to his own green ones.

"Eng..." Norway breathed, tears forming again, "I feel like I'm slipping away, as if I'm slowly being pulled down by multitude of souls."

"Nor you are safe. Your people are scared, frightened and confused. That is why you are so shaken, but you will be free again," England replied, desperate to console his friend. "We will help you with as many soldiers as we can, your King is adamant that he will stay in London to co-ordinate stealth attacks. You have not lost yet."

"I-"

"That dark place that we see, those awful, dark thoughts that we have, you cannot give into it Nor. I know what you see, I understand what you feel but please, do not submit to those ideas. If not for my sake, then for Denmark's. You will see him again, I promise Nor. You will live. Your people cling to hope, you will survive!"

"But I-"

"If you believe in nothing else, believe in this Norway. This war will end, you will see him again. You will be back in his arms and he will hold you tight, never letting go. Believe in that Norway; know that you will never be this scared again."

Norway's eyes bored into England's, as if scrutinising his soul for any sign of weakness, any sign that England would crumble and succumb to the same thoughts and feelings Norway had. He would not, _he could not_, he would be strong for the both of them. _Please let my words reach you! _England mentally screamed, holding Norway's face inches from his.

After what seemed like an eternity, Norway's eyes admitted defeat. He shut them tight and pulled himself upwards to embrace England again. England rubbed Norway's back and held the back of his head gingerly. He had never known Norway to be this fragile. Out of the pair, he would always be the one to question the universe, the meaning of life and such deep concepts, but this... he was on the brink of true despair. England would not let him fall into that pit.

Harsh sobs wracked Norway's body as he clung to England. He held Norway as tight as he dared without breaking bones. He could feel tears on his shirt but he didn't care. The sobs ceased and England heard muffled words against his skin. He slowly pulled back and lifted Norway's chin.

Norway's red eyes looked deeply into his. "I just want to forget all of this," he whispered. "Please, help me forget." Nails dug into England's back again.

"Nor?"

"I need to forget, just for a moment, else I... I'll..." Sobs threatened to come again as Norway reached out for England. He held him again, rubbing his friend's back and leaning his head on Norway's neck. He began to rock him as if he were a child, knowing and fearing what Norway was asking of him.

"Stay with me Nor," he breathed against his skin.

Faint warm kisses danced along England's collar bone as Norway tugged at England's arm. The fragile nation leaned back into the armchair, linking his right hand with England's left. Blank, beautiful blue eyes found his.

"Eng please, make me forget, just for a moment."

England's right hand crept along Norway's skin, no longer damp from the rain but somehow soft and smooth. He grimaced against Norway's neck when he felt ribs poking harshly against his fingertips. So his friend had not been eating; his worry for Denmark had to manifest in some form. England had to be gentle and caring, if he were too harsh Norway would break. He didn't want his friend broken more than he already was.

With deft fingers, England managed to make his way down to the hem of Norway's trousers. He felt cold, weak fingertips at the hem of his own shirt. He looked up, searching his friend's face for any kind of resistance or unwillingness. When he found none, he leaned back and pulled the material up and over his head, exposing his scarred chest. He also grabbed a nearby cushion and placed it under his knees.

Blank, blue eyes looked into his green ones as England undid Norway's trousers and began to peel them off his clammy skin. England placed delicate kisses along Norway's legs as pale skin was exposed, earning soft whimpers as a thank you.

Clothes thrown aside, England quickly coated his fingers with his own spit, keeping one hand on Norway's legs. His friend's hand came to rest atop his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. As England coaxed his way inside, he watched Norway writhe and shudder beneath him, trying his hardest not to hurt him as he prepared him for what was to come.

"Eng... enough," Norway breathed, turning his head to the side. His cheeks were flushed red and his skin beginning to form a thin sheen of sweat. England continued to ready him, knowing that it was too soon. He placed a gentle kiss on Norway's hip as he shuffled on his knees, listening to Norway's breathy moans.

"Eng please," begged Norway, one hand still on England's, the other clutching the armchair.

Kneeling up, England withdrew his fingers. Norway's hands came to rest at his neck and shoulder, shaking ever so slightly. England placed his hands under Norway's knees and lifted them upwards. Gently – oh so gently – he pushed his way inside.

Norway gasped and stiffened at the contact, but his hand remained on England's neck and shoulder, nails forming red marks at the contact. Only when his blue eyes opened did England move, forcing himself to be slow despite his body yearning for more. Norway pulled his body closer and England wrapped an arm around Norway's waist, keeping their chests pressed together as the rocked.

"Eng, I-"

"Shhh," England soothed, stroking Norway's hair with his other hand. "I have you Nor."

"I'm sorry Eng-"

"Shhh. No more words. You're safe."

Gently England ran a hand through Norway's hair as he brought his friend down into his lap. He looked into those enchanting blue eyes and saw the understanding there. This was not about the rut or true love, but need. A need to feel, to be held, to connect with someone, to know that you existed, know you were alive, you were real. Hands connected, skin brushed against skin, breath mingled and lips caressed. Heartbeats merged together and sweat coated them as they clung together, connecting with the world and each other.

They were alive. _They were alive!_

Afterwards, the two nations ended up underneath one of the blankets, cuddled up by the fire with Norway asleep and England staring into the flames. He stroked the Norwegian's hair, hoping it would give him comforting dreams. England would heat the water soon and drag the portable bath inside for the nation, but for now he decided to let Norway peacefully sleep in his arms.

If he could give him some comfort, then he would give it wholeheartedly.

"I hope you feel human again," England whispered into his dear friend's ear as he lost himself in the dancing flames.

* * *

1945. It was over. Germany had surrendered to the Allies. They had quickly resumed their squabbling, arguing over who had which piece of Germany and how to divide the capital between four. France could barely walk, yet he had demanded a place at the table and made sure every knew that he deserved compensation again. England had to bite his tongue very hard to not snap and remind him that the Treaty of Versailles had practically driven Germany to start this war. But he had bitten his tongue – nearly splitting the skin – and sat in silence as arguments ensured and new rivalries formed. America and Russia had glared at each other throughout the meeting. That would be interesting to watch.

England leaned his forearms on the balcony of their building, his uniform dirty and his hair a mess. He needed a break from the loud voices of America and France. His body still ached and his head pounded, but he stood tall. It had been close, so close. Germany had only needed to continue for another month and England would have cracked. He shakily puffed on his cigarette. How he could murder a cup of tea, or coffee, or anything. He rubbed his red-rimmed eyes and took in the scenery. Berlin was more like a quarry than a city; more guilt for England to deal with when he had some time alone.

Footsteps approached from behind, stopping at a respectable distance. England didn't turn to see who it was, assuming it was yet another messenger with another problem that needed his attention. He took a long drag from his ciggie and thought about how he could clear his conscience. He probably couldn't.

"Congratulations England," came a familiar, quiet voice that made England turn and face his companion. He was surprised for a moment as he leant against the balcony. He hadn't expected this.

"No congratulations are needed Norway," he said around his cigarette. "I merely did what I must."

A hand came to rest on England's shoulder. "I've come to thank you."

Brows creased in confusion, England look up at his old friend. Norway looked better than he had all those years ago, his skin was full of colour and his eyes not so blank. He was still skinny, but all the nations were skinny now... except for America.

"Thank me?" England asked.

"You saved me in more ways than one," Norway said, looking into England's eyes. "I would return the favour, if needed my friend."

Understanding dawned and a small smile crept onto England's tired face. It felt foreign to him. When we the last time he had genuinely smiled?

"Thank you for the offer old friend," he replied, giving the hand on his shoulder a gentle squeeze, "but I will weather this like many before. I am a dab hand at war and its consequences." He took another drag and blew the smoke out of his nose. "I doubt anyone could save my soul," he added wryly.

"Angleterre? Where are you? Do you not want a portion of Allemagne?" France called from inside the room. With a heavy sigh England pushed away Norway's hand and took one last drag of his cigarette, dropping it on the floor to stamp out.

"I meant what I said England," Norway said, his blue eyes showing concern. "If you need a friend, I am here for you."

"I appreciate that Norway," England replied, straightening his jacket and smoothing his hair as he made his way over to the meeting room. "I have one friend in this world at least," he muttered to himself.

"Remember we all have to feel human again," Norway called at England stepped through the door.

"But we're not," England said, his hand on the door frame. "We're not human...however," he added with a small smile, "a pot of tea at my place would be best shared with a friend..."


End file.
